Breaching the Gate

I emerged from the cracked pot at first light, setting my sights directly on the small clearance beneath the wooden garden gate. A fallen metal clothes peg lay half-sunk in the dirt. I approached, hooked my heel under its spring hinge, and pried it free with a sharp tug. Taking hold of the steel pin, I wedged it into the gap between the soil and the bottom picket, testing the vertical clearance. The iron gave no quarter, but the earth yielded enough for my passage. Dropping into a low crawl, I leveraged my shoulders beneath the timber threshold and levered myself through to the outer gravel lane. The yard is left behind; new territory lies open.